I’m Supposed To Be Sad About My Parents’ Suicide, But The Truth Is Nothing’s Ever Made Me Happier

We talked it over, Laura and I, quite a couple of times before we decided to take action. We decided that we wanted you; you were the only one who could fill up that agonizing empty space in our hearts. You were the only one for whom Laura was willing to get back on her own feet. Oh, how desperate was she to be a mother again! To love and live again! And how willing was I to do any damn thing to make it happen! Like a complete fool, one rainy night, I called on Him. I waited around for a few hours and He came with all his dangerous dignity, the Lord of all the dark forces in the universe. I laid my request before him and He agreed, but of course, I had to pay off my immense debt to him in subtle ‘installments’. We came to an agreement upon the number; it was to be two each month till my death. That sealed the deal, and the very next day, you were ours. You weren’t you anymore. You were Toby Martin. We’d got our son back.

Now you might ask, why didn’t I request Him to resurrect my son instead? I have only one answer for you; the debt for having someone brought back from the dead is way beyond what I can afford.

So we made the best of what we’d got. We moved to Kansas city to start a new life. But unfortunately, you’d become a human robot after losing all your past memories. So we nurtured you, taught you, loved you; we were the best parents in the world. You’d belonged to a lower middle class family in one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the city. Your parents were alcoholics and were unemployed most of the time, leeching off of your grandparents. We thought we were saving you. Sometimes, when regret hit us in its full blow, we comforted ourselves with the thought that you were much better off with us.